Page 6 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

‘Thank you, I will.’

Sephy sighed. ‘Goodbyes are hard, too hard at times.’

Dora nodded. She wasn’t looking forward to it yet at the same time she was beyond excited to start her new life here in Salem. Lenny was taking care of the visas and Dora was happy to let her.

Ambrose walked back in and gave them a thumbs up.

‘I’m going to leave you ladies and head down to the shop. Margo messaged to say she could do with a hand, if that’s okay.’

‘You don’t want pizza?’ asked Dora.

‘I’m good, Margo asked me to supper, and I haven’t seen much of her. If it’s okay with you all I’ll go help her.’

Sephy glided across the room and scooped him into her arms. ‘You are such a good person, Ambrose, what would we do without you? Of course, you should go and help Margo. I should have closed the shop today, but there is so much going on in town I forgot. Please tell Margo tomorrow I will be back at work; I can’t sit moping around forever. I will open up so she can take the morning off.’

‘You will? Are you sure it’s not too soon, Sephy?’

Sephy took hold of both of Ambrose’s hands. ‘A lifetime of sorrow and grief is too soon, but as we all know life must go on. Life is for living, for we never know when it will be cut short.’

It was Lenny’s turn to roll her eyes. ‘Oh Lord, she’s off. Yes, it’s fine, Ambrose. I’ll help her, the both of you should take some time off.’

Dora smiled at them, the three most important people in her life. Sephy was right, life is for living. Dora knew that more than anyone.

Ambrose turned to her, and bending down, his lips brushed her cheek. She felt bad that she was holding back a little from him, but this was all still a whole new world for her. She was trying her best to navigate through it.

SIX

Morana was in a fluffy towel, her hair in a wrap. She was sitting cross legged on the sofa staring at the brown paper bag, which contained the book. She had put it next to a pile of books on witchcraft that she’d bought from Enchanted across the way. She’d flicked through them but not really done anything with them, always drawn to the witchy side of life, she didn’t know why. It was just who she was and sometimes she wondered if it was an ancestral thing. She had no family to ask, or any idea of her parents’ origins. She didn’t know why but her heart was racing just looking at the bag. It was giving her palpitations.

She picked up her cup and swirled the iced coffee around. The cream had melted into the coffee and she took a sip, but the sickly sweetness didn’t help with her nervousness. She realised she was acting as weird as the woman who’d brought the book into the shop. It was a book damn it. It wasn’t anything bad or evil. Leaning forward she picked it up and tore the brown paper bag off it.

The book was old; she could tell by the smell that lingered in the air around it. Etched into the soft, black leather cover in elegant red script were the words The Book of Black Magic. Morana wondered what this was. It looked too old to be a reprint, it smelled musty, earthy like a forest. It smelled the way a walk through a dense copse of trees did after a storm. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled.

It smelled like her childhood. She’d lived in a forest once, played with a black crow that used to visit. She and her mom, who had been shunned from her village, had been all alone in a wooden cabin that was home.

Morana dropped the book onto the table. What was that? Memories of being on a sailing boat that weren’t hers and now this? She had not ever lived in a wooden cabin on the edge of a forest with her mom. Her mom had walked out of her life and got herself killed when she was a kid. Now, she was alone, no family, her only friends were her colleagues at the store and Addison.

Picking up the book again she opened the front cover and saw a note written in the most beautiful cursive handwriting.

You may use this book to keep you safe if you must, but first you must finish the spells and stories. Only you will be able to read this and uncover my secrets, daughter. Until the unwritten words are complete it holds no power, that is at your fingertips. It is not for foolish dreams. Lucine English.

The black ink had faded to a washed-out grey. She wondered whose mother or father had written this, and if she’d ever needed to use the book. Like what kind of foolish dreams would she have used black magic on?

Morana wondered if this was some kind of joke, or if the woman who had brought it to the store was a local psychopath. On the next page was her name in the same elegant script.

Morana Williams

She stared at the faded ink, traced her fingers across the writing. How? It must have belonged to another Morana Williams, as surely it had never belonged to her, she would remember it, wouldn’t she?

There was only one way to find out. She turned the pages slowly; they felt like the softest velvet in her fingers. She realised it was a grimoire, a book of spells. Each page contained a spell, and it was decorated with hand-drawn pictures of herbs, feathers, flowers and included the items needed for the spells, with titles such as:

How to summon the dead

Bring a loved one back

Curses

How to bring about the death of an enemy